Eternum Moridanis
by TheThroneLord
Summary: The ancient cycle of the millennium draws to its close, and the Angels of Light and Shadow are returning to the physical realm. Harry Potter is hidden from birth under a new name, and in the care of Alastor Moody by an unknown entity, who is preparing him for the cataclysm to come. Book One of the Eternity Series. AU
1. Intro: Dante

**A/N Ok, so this is what I will be doing for the next week or so. I have reshuffled the chapters to ensure better alignement storywise, and I will be adding additional content to chapters 1 and 2 later next week. I have decided to revise the Chapters already written (apart from 3) to generally bring them up to my standards. You might want to re-read them because I may or may not introduce some important plot points;)**

**This is my project for the next couple weeks, so the story will be advanced in a roundabout way during that time, but do not expect new Chapters:)**

**If you haven't yet read my story, review please:) **

**Eternum Moridanis**

**or translated from ancient Archonic as:**

**The Will of Eternity**

"...It has been many days since I confronted Satan himself, yet I still linger here. My original work is complete, and even now is finding its way into the hands of men. However, I cannot escape the Seven Hells. I am bound here by some unknown power that even now holds me in its grasp. I came across an ancient tombstone today, inscrived in ancient gallic. Transcribed, it reads thus:

Eternity's Edge

The forces of Heaven and Hell

Marshelled to Fight to the End

Until the last Death knell

Unto the Future they doth rend

Their Potentcy and Strife

To bring the Fall of Humanity

And all Life.

What could this mean? I have lost all hope of ever leaving this cursed wasteland, yet I feel my work is not yet complete. I will continue to unravel the secrets of Hell itself. For something is deeply wrong here. I cannot determine what."

_Excerpt of the _Lost Manuscripts of Dante_, page 117 _

"...And I came across the Darkest of the Lords of Hell. His name is not spoken. Those who he enslaves know him as the Dread Lord. He told me all I had thus recorded was nothing but a myth, a terrible fantasy painted to guard the true nature of the Dark Heavens from Humanity. I take my secrets to the grave, as I now know I will not leave here with my mind intact. I leave this journal in hopes that those who find it will know the truth of Heaven and Hell.

There is no glorious God, no cruel Lucifer. The souls of the Dead do not enter these places. There are five angels, once united. Two for Light, two for Darkness and One for neither and both. They are long destroyed, yet even now the remains of their spirits seek to subjugate this earth to their terrible wills.

I leave these journals, the lost manuscripts, as my final legacy to this earth.

Dante

_Excerpt of the final page of the _Lost Manuscripts of Dante


	2. Prologue: Plots and Plans

**A/N Here we are, the prologue to my story:)**

**Enjoy and Review:)**

It was a night of anticipation. The darkness enveloped the empty street like a blanket, covering it in a warm embrace. The stars above, cold and uncaring, watched on amidst the night sky. A witch and a wizard had just departed, leaving a bundle on the doorstep of a certain house in Privet Drive. The Boy-Who-Lived slept on, unaware that his ordeal was not yet over.

A dark figure emerged from the shadows, long cloak trailing behind. A hood covered the figure's face as it shambled ungaily towards the sleeping child. The hood was not to conceal the identy of the figure; but to prevent any late night walkers from seeing the face concealed beneath.

Beneath the hood, there was middle-aged face of a man. It was slack-jawed and drooling, empty of any expression whatsoever. It was the eyes, however, that the figure wished to hide. Eyes of crimson light that burned with unending pain.

Shakily picking up the bundle, the figure then deposited an identical looking child in its place, minus the scar. It was necessary that Harry Potter be hidden from those who would seek to destroy him. For now, that meant placing another in the place of the young Potter. The decoy would draw the notice and pontential assassination attempts of the enemy, while the true weapon grew and matured.

Time was running out; the end was just under two decades away, and Harry Potter had to be prepared when it came. Unable to manifest his presence in the physical realm was a great annoyance; so he had to do his work through a series of pawns and the use of possession. It was the latter that brought him here today. This was too important to be entrusted to an underling.

The cosmic power of Eternity flowed through him, and through the dim connection to his host's body he felt the nerve endings scream in protest. The wizard he was controlling would wake up sore in the morning. Focusing the energy through the wizard's wand, even as it fought the foreign power, he whispered an incantation.

There was a brief crimson glow, and then a scar was burned painlessly into the decoy's forehead. He studied the two children silently. They were similar enough as young children, but later in life the decoy's high cheekbones would become more prominent. Now he needed to perform the switch.

Removing the letter from the first bundle, and placing it onto the second, the figure then shambled away awkwardly. It didnt look back. Behind, the child that would be now known as the-boy-who-lived stirred in his sleep. And, concealed in the dark folds of the figure's cloak, Harry Potter slept on, dreamlessly.

Walking with great care, the figure continued moving down the street with renewd haste. The man who's body he was inhabiting was required for work tomorow, and it was better if he was not reported missing.

A bunch of drunk Muggles passed him on the street, yelling and shouting in the dark night. The figure continued onward, passing by a street corner when all of a sudden he was acosted.

"Here, mate," a voice said. "Look what we found!"

There was a chorus of laughs, and the figure realized with a certain amount of disdain that they were attempting to rob him. Four men stepped out into the light. They were rough and unshaved, with greasy jackets and wide grins. Two had knives, and one spouted a section of lead piping.

"Hey there, chum," the leader said, sparking another round of chortles. "I don't suppose you got any cash on ya'?" he leered.

These men were a distraction he could not afford. If he was here in person, the pitiful mortals would be dust by now, consumed the ever-hungry power of Eternity.

He could not run away; his control was too tenious over this host to ensure a clean gettaway. He had no money to appease the men; they would no doubt look for some and in the process remove his hood. In the end there was only one option.

The men were still chortling even as the figure made up his mind. Unseen by the thugs, shadows began slithering down the figure's pale wrist, moving down into his hand where they congealed and stretched, forming a long, slender blade. Hardening and becoming steel, the shadows vanished.

Slashing the blade forward in a quick snap that was barely seen by the still laughing muggers, the figure moved with the grace of a dancer. One of the men let out a gasp that ended in a gurgle as blood gushed from his ruined throat, appearing black in the harsh orange light of a nearby street lamp.

Even as a sudden silence descended upon the men, the figure was already moving. The second man let out a ragged gasp and dropped his knife as the inch-thick blade pierced his heart. The third man raised his piece of lead piping uncertainly. A quick slash tore through the tendons in the third man's hand, and he dropped the pipe with a curse. The curse was cut off as the blade rammed itself down his throat, severing his spine at the base of the neck.

The figure turned, preparing to kill the final mugger, but found himself slammed back by a force from the side and he dropped his sword. Panic erupted as the final mugger stabbed his knife into the figure again and again, in a desperate frenzy. _He could not die here! It would take to much time to find another body! Harry would be left here, alone and lost perhaps forever!_

The panic receded as the figure realized that his numerous wounds were not centered around the heart. Despite his seemingly thin arms, the possessed wizard tore the thug's hand away from the knife hilt, leaving it lodged in his stomach. The figure then took his pale hands and wrapped them with almost exquisite care around the mugger's throat. The man choked and struggled, but the hooded figure had a grip of iron. Beneath the hood, crimson eyes gazed on coldly as the life drained out of the would-be mugger.

Standing, cloak trailing behind him, the wizard let the man's lifeless body slump to the ground. He pulled the knife from his body, letting it fall onto the pavement with a faint clatter.

A brief wince crossed the slack face as the figure felt his stomach's nerves and arteries knit back together, healing his wounds. Only a thrust through the heart could destroy this body while he inhabited it, and luckily the man had aimed lower.

He had not used his powers to kill the thugs; that would only attract unwanted attention from the magical world. Feeling a stirring over his right breastbone, the wizard suddenly remembered the little bundle he had placed there. Bringing out Harry Potter from under his robes, he was pleased to see the boy was unhurt.

The boy was neccassary to carry out his plans and achieve his goals. He would need to do one more thing before he dropped the boy off at his new home however.

Finding an abadonned church further down the road, the hooded being opened the rotting door. As he crossed the threshhold, a brief grimace of pain crossed the slack face. Staring at the worn paintings of Saints, the being felt a sense of sadness overcome him.

His eyes wandered beneath the hood, seeing all. He stared at the dusty ceiling, and even in this twilight to him the details where clear. A chorus of Angels sang the heavenly praises even as demons reached up from the pits of hell, depicted with artistic ingenuety that had somewhat faded to the scourge of time.

The figure stared for a long time. Harry Potter stirred underneath his cloak, and he turned his attention back to the baby. Placing the boy who lived upon the Alter, he once again drew his wand. Making a series of complicated gestures, the figure felt the wand heat up and begin to crack beneath his fingers, charring them.

The dark taint that emanated from the boy's scar had to be removed. And if it removed the scar aswell, well, that would only serve to hide him better. The Horcrux was no match for the power of Eternity.

Finishing with a flourish, a flash of dark red light lit up the room. The young Potter let out a brief cry, and then the scar faded, along with the dark taint he had felt on the boy.

Pointing the wand directly at the sleeping child, the figure began to chant. Hairs on his kneck stood up as red light pulsed. Runes began appearing on the surrounding walls faster than the eye could follow. He could feel tension rising, and the young Potter stirred restlessly.

This was the most important part. To bind the child to him, and the power of Eternity, forever. This required, however, almost completely undiluted Eternity energy. It was almost guaranteed that the wand would not survive. That did not matter. It would have furfilled its purpose.

The wand was now burning his fingers to a crisp, but the figure never felt it. Raising his wand, the figure shouted the final incantation.

"ETERNUM MORIDANIS!"

The wand erupted in an explosion of burning shards as the power overloaded the magical core. The light erupted, briefly blinding the figure. When it faded, Potter remained there. The only difference was a small gold symbol imrinted on the child's arm, like a four-pointed star. The young child moved slightly as it felt the cold touch of something alien and entirely inhuman brush his conciousness.

The figure stared back up at the angels on the roof, still merrily singing, frozen in time. A brief expression of intense hatred crossed his face, and the slack mouth opened for the first time.

He screamed. The walls shook and began to crack as the figure lashed out with his powers in hatred tinged with loss. The miniture figurines of saints erupted in a shower of wood and stone. The red light burned brightly through the windows, and one unlucky person happened to notice, and decided to notify the police.

Inside, the figure's scream ended. He picked up Harry Potter emotionlessly, and walked out the door. He had still one more thing to do tonight.

HHH

The next morning, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was at the scene of the abadonned church. They had heard tales of screams and red light from the Muggle police, which sounded suspiciously like a dark ritual. When they arrived however, there was no dark residue anywhere to be found. Concluding it as a simple missunderstanding, the aurors asked to speak to the original witness. The Muggle police then happily directed them to the nearest psychiatric hospital.

A particularily curious auror decided to speak with the witness. This proved to be a waste of time.

"I heard you saw something last night," the auror asked the patient (feeling that one needed not be proffessional with someone that was certified to be insane).

"I saw nothing," said the witness in a harsh whisper. "But _he_, he saw _me_."

"I felt his gaze. It was like a thousand burning knives, right here." he gestured, pointing to his chest.

"You want to know a secret," whispered the deranged man. "He is greater than the darkness, more terrible than the light. And he can still _see me_!"

"And he never stops watching," sobbed the witness. "He never stops watching."

The auror left hastily, and wrote a note to his boss, saying that the witness was a nutcase, and had likely made the whole story up.

HHH

Elsewere, a middle aged wizard woke up in his bed. He searched, but could not find his wand. Concluding he had lost it, he took some time to nurse his mysteriously burnt fingers before heading to Diagon Alley to procure another before work.

HHH

Finally, Alastor Moody woke up to find something was making noise on his doorstep. After nearly hexing the crying child, he picked up the babe with dark hair, green eyes, and a inconspicuous lack of a scar. The boy's name, according to the letter placed on his body, written in shaky hand, was Harry Meridith.


	3. Chapter 1: Moody

**A/N So here is my first proper chapter. I had nothing to do this morning, so I typed this up. Hopefully the Chapters will start getting longer. As I was currently working on another writing project at the time of uploading the prologue, it was not up to my usual standards. However, this should be somewhat better, if not perfect. Feel free to point out any spelling errors you come across, as I am writing without spell-check.**

**Enjoy and review please:)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. For those of you that think I do, I know a good psychiatrist.**

Alastor Moody was having a bad day. To be honest, that was an understatement of the century. Alastor Moody felt like running around, screaming like a banshee and hexing various inanimate objects around the room . He probably would too, if the magical discharge wouldn't trigger the thirteen booby-traps he had placed around the room.

The source of Moody's current predicament lay smiling on the table, waving his arms exitedly while Moody paced back and forth. _He couldn't raise a child!_ The idea was simply preposterous. Yet someone had left Harry Meridith on his doorstep. The child destined for Hogwarts, Moody had already checked the list of students. Harry Meridith was on that list...along with Harry Potter.

He was a bloody Auror for god's sake! He shouldn't be nursemaiding small children! He had work to do! Places to be!

Moody conveniantly ignored the fact with the Dark Lord's fall, his workload had been reduced to the point he was practically retired already.

Cursing quite eraboratly, Moody found that the young child was still, and regarding him with wide emerald eyes. Still not quite believing he was seriously considering raising a child, Moody found himself drawn to the young boy.

Harry regarded the Auror with a curious look on his small face. Something that might have passed for affection crossed the Auror's scarred face. Realizing it, Moody screamed, finally letting out his anger and frustration. Throwing a powerful curse at the other end of the room, Moody turned his back and slumped into a chair with a low groan. When had his life gotten so bloody _complicated_?

He would have to teach the boy how to defend himself from an early age, the Auror mused. He had too many enemies that would seek to hurt him through his adopted son. As he contemplated the future, Moody heard a faint hiss coming from behind him.

This sent alarm bells ringing inside his head. Something was very, very wrong.

Turning slowly, Moody saw an enraged Chimera engaging in a staring contest with Harry. Moody froze, realizing the danger his son was in. Glancing quickly at the other end of the room, he found his magical trunk open. Cursing slightly, Moody realized his spell had accidently hit the trunk, releasing the thirteenth and final trap: an illegally imported Chimera.

Racking his brains, Moody remembered everything he could about the beasts. They had three heads, goat, serpent and lion. They ate everything that moved. At that, Moody gulped despite himself.

_Please don't move_, begged Moody silently as he began to creep forward towards the beast and his son. The Chimera was regarding the boy quizzically.

Harry screamed in terror. Things happened very quickly after that. The Chimera reared, its three heads ready to strike. Moody moved, but knew he would be too late-

Harry's scream rose in pitch, and a faint gold mark appeared on the inside of his right forearm-

Moody felt _something_, as if the fabric of reality itself was rippling-

And the Chimera let out a screech of pure terror and fled to the other end of the room, clawing at the wall, struggling to get away from the child.

Moody's reflexes took over, and he stunned the monster before replacing it in his trunk.

He looked Harry over quickly, and found no trace of injury-also no trace of the flash of gold he had seen. Harry had recovered fast from his ordeal, and was now staring at Moody again.

Cursing again, Moody gently carried the boy to the second floor of his home and putting the child to sleep.

Returning to the living room, Moody removed three bottles of fifty-year old Firewhisky he had been saving from a cuboard. It was going to be a _bloody_ long night.

In a room that was nowhere and everwhere at once, a figure sat slumped upon a dusty throne. The room was crafted out of dark stone, and shaped like a cube. There was no entrance or exit.

The figure was dressed in white robes, imprinted with faded symbols of a lost era. There was silver armor on his shoulders and back that had not yet sucumbed to the destruction of time. Tendrils of red energy as wide as the room sprouted from the figure's back, swaying with a gentle hissing.

Chains of light and shadow bound the figure to the dark throne. The last act of those he had betrayed in the fullness of time. The figure had no name, or had forgotten it. He simply called himself Eternity, for that is what he embodied. He could not manifest himself in the physical realm directly, and to use a vessel such as a human body was difficult and time-consuming, but it remained the only way to manipulate events in his favor.

The chains that bound him to the throne he had once coveted were his penance. He accepted the chains and the consuming agony that came with them with good grace. It was his price; the price of doing the right thing. Eternity could still remember it like it was yesterday, not millions of years ago. The scent of blood and death, as he held the dying form of his loved one.

Dying from wounds he had inflicted. She had cursed him, in her final moments. Etenity was bound here, unable to move even to take his own life. Bound here for all eternity. The irony of it almost made him laugh.

But now he was weary. He wished to join his brothers and sisters in the stars themselves. He had manipulated events accordingly, and now the wheels of fate had been set into motion. He would have to wait a couple of years, but then the boy would give him what he wanted most of all.

Most of all, Eternity wanted to die.


	4. Chapter 2: Chimera, Take 2

**A/N So here is the next installment. I am moving it ahead a bit in time, but hopefully that should not be too confusing. **

**For those who asked, yes Harry can no-longer talk to snakes, as the Voldemort Horcrux was destroyed along with his scar. I was going to explain this a little later, but might aswell put it out there now.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. While I would like to, any claim would soon be followed by a legion of lawers, something I am not prepared to take on with a max budget of 10 bucks.**

Chapter 2: Harry Meridith, Age 11

Alastor Moody yawned, a terrifying expression by any means given the amount of scars that covered his face. Brushing his mangled brown hair back, he sat up on the plain bed that he called his own.

Still not fully awake, Moody groped for the glass of whiskey he always kept on the small, pockmarked table beside his bed. After taking a long draught of the amber substance, the old Auror leaned back on his bed and stared at the ceiling of the room. It was worn, like everything in his house. Like himself.

Closing his eyes briefly, Moody lay back and tried to get some rest. It was going to be a long day. He opened them again when the sounds of fighting reached his ears. Walking over to the window, the auror watched as a young boy faced off against a man on his front lawn. The man was oriental, and perhaps a couple years younger than Moody himself.

It was the boy that captivated the attention of Alastor, however. He was young, with a mop of raggedy dark hair, and green eyes that seemed to see... everything. Moody felt a swell of paternal pride, despite himself. Moody would never have admitted it to anyone, but he had begun to think of Harry as a second son. Being an Auror meant that families were...discouraged. This was for the sake of both the Auror and their family, as an the past, things had become unpleasent.

That was another reason Moody was not looking forward today. No-one yet knew that Harry was his son. As soon as that knowledge was revieled, Harry would become a target.

Originally, it had been for the Harry's safety and comfort only, but now Moody had come to care for . It had been a mistake, bringing Harry into his life. Moody knew this, had always known this, yet somehow he never had the heart to force him to leave. Attachments were dangerous for the retired Auror, as he had plenty of enemies who would seek to hurt him to his back. So, instead of sending the young boy away, Alastor had begun teaching Harry to defend himself.

Moody had 'procured' a wand that was reasonably usable for Harry, and had begun teaching him the basics of self-defense. Now, three years later, Harry had made astounding progress. Alastor had carefully instructed Harry on this point; not to seem to proficient, as awkward questions would arise. But Moody was still impressed.

As the oriental man and Harry Potter bowed to each other, Moody took another swig from his whiskey. He firmly believed that more ancient, albiet primitive forms of combat were useful to learn. So, after many long hours of searching, Moody had found a person of questionable morality to teach Harry how to fight, muggle style. Sometimes it amazed him, what this small man was teaching Harry to do. Sometimes it chilled him.

Walking down the stairs passed the living room, and avoiding thirteen lethal booby traps he had placed, Moody strode out into the front lawn as the sun came up in the sky.

Harry was currently engaged in a losing battle with his Ninjutsu master, as they both fought back and forth. Granted, the Master was a grown man, but the art of Ninjutsu was more about technique than strength. Or so he'd been told.

The old Auror decided to have a little fun with his adopted son. Creeping up until he was directly behind Harry, Moody then bellowed in his loudest voice. A voice that had made Dementors tremble, Death Eaters flee in panic, and made the Dark Tosser himself look up and take notice.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry cursed, something he had _definitly _not picked up from Moody. His distraction allowed the Master to land a glancing blow on a pressure point above Harry's chest. The young Potter looked up in annoyance at his father.

"Couldn't you leave me to train for ten minutes in peace, Father?" he said. It was Moody's turn to be annoyed now. Harry still insisted on calling him Father, despite his arguments that it would only cause trouble, and besides, Mad-Eye Moody was a great name.

Moody had a sneaky suspicion that Harry only did it to annoy him. He was about to respond when an alarm on his watch went off.

Motioning urgently for quiet, Moody trod silently back towards his house. Alastor heard voices coming from the living room the moment he entered the hallway.

"..are you sure about this?" a young (female?) voice asked.

"Yes," an older answered. "This is the adress that was given. We must find Moody, and then..."

There was an ominious pause. Moody sneaked a glance around the doorframe, and what he saw shocked him. Two Death Eaters, clad in dark robes and silver mask were looking around the room. Moody cursed under his breath. Through pure chance the intruders had avoided all thirteen of the traps placed around the room. But..they were standing directly in front of his magical trunk...and that gave Moody an idea. A predatory smile crept over his grizzled features. Time to have some fun.

Alecto Carrow was a Death Eater for the simple reason that she could not be anything else. She had been chosen for this mission by the remains of the Death Eater leadership purely for the fact that Alecto was about as expendable as one got. She was to find Moody and bring him to the Malfoys for some rough justice.

However, something was wrong with this house. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it seemed... Alecto never finished the thought, as she heard a very distinctive click behind her. She spun around, wand raised..and saw nothing. Alecto was getting a _very _bad feeling about this. Behind her, the supposedly innanimate trunk made a similar click, as its lid opened. She turned in time to see an enraged Chimera jump out and rip her partner's head off. Alecto tried to raise her wand, but was ultimatly not fast enough.

Moody smiled happily as the second Death Eater's scream was cut off. It had been a stroke of genius keeping that Chimera locked up in there, despite the fact it wasn't exactly legal. His smile faded somewhat as the Chimera tore through the side wall of his house and rampaged out into the street.

Moody lived in a muggle neighborhood, and it was sure to cause some questions. Wincing slightly as the Chimera set off car alarms as it continued on its path of destruction across the suburbs, Moody walked back out to the lawn. Harry was sitting there, looking supremely calm, despite the fact a lethal creature had just ran out of his home.

"Harry, you might have to head to Diagon Alley yourself..." Moody's voice trailed off as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Here," Moody continued, giving Harry a small stone. "It is a portkey to the Leaky Cauldron. I unfortunatly will not be joining you. Remove the amount needed from the Hogwarts trust fund to pay for your school supplies."

With his eyebrows raised slightly, Harry took the proffered rock.

"Well," Moody said. _What did families normally say at such an occasion?_ "Enjoy your time at Hogwarts. I will be here, sorting out this mess. I assume that the department of Magical Law Enforcement will be arriving shortly, so it is best that you leave quickly. Just say Hogwarts, and you will be away."

"Hogwarts," said the green-eyed boy cautiously. After Harry had left, Moody turned to look at the Master, who had remained silent throughout all of this.

"You never did tell me your name," Moody began.

"And I never will," replied the man smoothly. "I assume that I will no longer be teaching Harry."

As Alastor opened his mouth, the Master waved his hand.

"It does not matter. He has a firm grasp of the basics. I will send him a book on the more advanced techniques. He can learn them himself."

The Master then leaned closer to Moody and spoke in lowered tones to ensure he was not overheard.

"Harry is in greater danger than you know," he whispered.

Moody shrugged at that.

"Harry is quite cabable. You said so yourself. He will be fine."

"I am not talking about arrogant Purebloods or Death Eaters," responded the Master in a harsh whisper. "He has other enemies that will hunt him to the edge of the earth. They are not aware of him as of yet, but a day will come when they flock together to strike down your son."

The Master turned his back on the carnage, and walked away.

"Wait!" yelled Moody, but the oriental man ignored him.

Moody watched his retreating back thoughtfully. _Perhaps I did not make a mistake hiring him,_ he mused. _A very dangerous man by any means, even for a Muggle._

He would also have to think over the man's cryptic warning.

Moody winced again as part of the still standing back wall erupted in a shower of masonry. Apparently the Chimera had set off one of the booby traps. Humm. He would have to get a new clock. Preferably one that could fit half a kilo of plastic explosive within it. Sometimes the muggle ways were the best.

Moody once again turned his attention back to the wreck that was his home. This was gonna take some explaining.


	5. Chapter 3: Goblins, Gold and Gringotts

**A/N This update came a little earlier than expected, but thats a good thing right? Anyway, this is the first Chapter from Harry's point of view, and for most of the story it will remain thus. Gringotts, Goblins and a new Prophecy:) This Chapter is finally longer aswell!**

**On another note, this is much closer to my actual writing potential, so I apologize for the average quality of the last couple chapters. I will probably rewrite them at some point, but for now I'm plowing ahead.**

**Enjoy and Review!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would not be writing Fanfiction, I would be writing books.**

Diagon Alley was one of the busiest centres in the Wizarding World at this time of year. With students returning to Hogwarts, it was a bustling whirl of colour and movement. A boy with black hair, green eyes, dressed in faded blue jeans stumbled out of thin air. Pausing momentairly to regain his balance, Harry Meridith stared around him. Harry had, of course, been to Diagon Alley several times before, but never had it seemed this _busy_.

Staring longingly at Ollivander's, Harry dragged himself away. His practice wand was useful, but he was really looking forward to gettin his own. First however, came Gringotts.

Both Moody and Harry had agreed that taking money out of Moody's vault would be too dangerous. The entire Goblin creed was based around the aquisition of gold, and no-one had more than the Pureblood elite. In other words, there would be no more surefire way to announce Harry and Moody's relationship to the world than that.

Luckily, there was a Hogwarts trust fund, something Harry would have to be seen drawing upon to maintain the illusion. He also had a generous amount of Moody's gold, withdrawn at an earlier date, stashed around his person.

Gringotts bank was the largest building in Diagon Alley. Made of ornate marble, it had a sense of granduer and antiquity that the other stores lacked.

Walking down the plush carpet, Harry approached the nearest goblin.

"Good day," he began.

The aging goblin looked up in annoyance.

"Good day," the goblin responded coldly, not appreciating the interuption.

Clenching his jaw slightly, Harry stared the goblin in the eyes.

"I am here to draw upon my alotted amount from the Hogwarts Trust Fund."

The goblin continued to stare at Harry for a couple of seconds, before grudgingly pulling out a worn leather book.

"Name," he said frostily.

"Harry Meridith,"

The goblin looked up, and Harry barely had time to register his eyes widening in shock before the goblin's expression hardened into an unreadable mask.

"Harry _Meridith_?" he inquired cautiously.

The young wizard simply nodded, his confusion mounting. What was going on?

The goblin gulped, nervously stroking his unnaturally long fingers, apparently trying to process this new developement.

"Wait here," the goblin said. "I will fetch the Director."

He then walked as fast as his short legs would carry him away from the counter and out of sight, leaving a stunned Harry behind. The young wizard was trying to grapple his confusion. His life had never been _dull_ per se, but the events of the day so far had just been plain weird.

The Director was an ancient goblin, his skin worn and aged with a full head of white hair. However, anyone who would be fooled by his seemingly frail appearence would have to just look into his eyes. They were dark, almost black, and contained a terrifying intellect within their depths.

The Director and the goblin teller strode towards Harry purposefully, causing quite a stir as they passed. The Director rarely showed his face in public, and only then for matters of extreme importance. Because of this, goblins and wizards alike stared as he approached the young wizard.

"Mr...Meridith," The Director said, no trace of emotion in his voice. Harry shifted uncomfortably as the goblins dark eyes bored into him.

"Are you truly Harry Meridith?" asked the Director curiously. Harry simply stared back, uncomprehending.

The ancient goblin shook himself slightly.

"It does not matter," he said. "We shall know soon enough. I will take you to your vault,"

"My vault?" Harry responded stupidly.

"Yes, your vault," responded the Director, a note of impatience entering his voice. "Now if you would follow me..."

Harry followed the ancient goblin out of the main lobby and down to the trolley, amid the whispers of the other clients.

The journey took them to the very bowls of Gringotts itself.

They spun past many vaults at breakneck speed. The caverns grew deeper and darker as their journey continued. Harry was feeling quite ill after half an hour, though the Director in front of him still looked fine as he deftly operated the cart's controls. The vaults were larger and more infrequent now, and Harry was astonished when he caught a glimpse of an ancient white dragon gaurding one of them.

They finally came to stop at the end of the line beside the largest vault yet. Harry was therefore very surprised that, instead of going over to the vault, the Director took a small side passage to the left.

"We must continue the rest of the journey on foot, I'm afraid, Mr. Meridith." he said by way of explanation.

"It would be a pity to come all this way if you are not who you say you are," commented the goblin casually. "Of course, if you are not Harry Meridith, the wasted time is the least of your worries."

Unsure how to respond, Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"To the best of my knowledge, I am Harry Meridith." he responded.

The Director seemed satisfied with that. They walked down the narrow passage for a further ten minutes before Harry came to a sharp bend. Around the corner was a massive cavern, far bigger than anything else he had seen so far.

At the center of a maze of stalagmites sat a giant cube of interlocking pieces that glowed with a crimson haze at the seams. Feeling slightly nervous, Harry glanced at the older goblin, unsure how to proceed. The Director however, was staring intently at the cube.

"Uhmm..are you going to open it?" Harry was finally forced to ask. The Director of Gringotts snapped out of his contemplation.

"I cannot open it," he said rather stiffly. "You must do that."

For a moment Harry stared at him wordlessly, before responding with a simple question.

"How?"

"Simply touch it," said the Director. "If you are Harry Meridith, it will open. If not.." his voice trailed off.

Feeling a slight trepidation, Harry stepped around the stalagmites and approached the cube. From up close, it was apparent that the pieces were made of some sort of dark stone that rose up three times as Harry was tall. Most disconserting of all however, was that a sense of..._something_ seemed to radiate out of it.

Pausing briefly, Harry looked back, and found the Director a fair distance away, scrutinizing him with dark eyes.

Mustering all the courage he possessed, the young wizard closed his eyes, and place a hand on the dark stone. It was smooth and cool to touch. After a moment of the distinct lack of him dying brutally, Harry openend his eyes. Nothing had happened, as far as he could see.

Another moment passed. Then, finally, with a harsh grinding sound, the front of the cube slid open, revealing a an interior lit by incadescent red torches. And inside...Harry's mouth opened slightly. Piles of gold and silver glistened. It was not an enormous amount, but still a far cry from what Harry currently owned.

With wide eyes, the Director rushed past Harry and into the vault. Feeling slightly bemused, Harry began piling galeons into a money bag originally intended for the Trust Fund. The goblin returned several minutes later, holding something that looked like a long stick wrapped in dirty cloth.

He unraveled the cloth to reveal a black wand with a silver metal handle. Taking great care to not touch the wand directly, the Director offered it to Harry. Feeling the goblin's eyes on him, Harry gingerly picked it up. Feeling the unnaturally smooth dark wood, Harry felt a sudden sense of..._connection_ to the wand.

The goblin then produced an ancient leather book from his other hand, which Harry stuffed unceromoniously in his money bag.

"As was agreed, I have presented the items requested to you," said the ancient goblin with a deep and respectful bow. Harry nearly gaped from shock. The Director of Gringotts had _bowed _ to him! It was only then that the goblin's sentence sank in.

"Wait! You mean someone _told_ you to give me these?"

The goblin stared at Harry for a moment, eyes glittering strangely, before turning away.

"I will lead you to the cart so you can return to the surface, Mr. Meridith," he said calmly. "Feel free to return any time."

Realizing that arguing was pointless, Harry followed the goblin back to the cart. After a long journey, Harry made his way back to the main lobby of Gringotts alone. This time no-one so much as glanced his way, as they were to busy staring at another boy with dark hair, green eyes, and a scar who was demanding impertiously to be taken to his vault.

After exiting Gringotts a full hour and a half after he had entered the bank, Harry found his way to the trunk shop, where he procured an expandable one like his father owned. After buying a cauldron, several books and potions supplies, he found himself outside Ollivanders.

Suddenly realizing that he already had a wand, Harry walked away again, feeling rather stupid. The whole events of Gringotts seemed surreal to him. Someone placing a vault in his name? Plain weird.

The only thing left was to be fitted for robes. Humming a merry tune, Harry set off in the direction of Madam Malkin's.

HHH

_Earlier..._

Mad Eye Moody sat cross-legged on the grass outside the ruins of his former home with his eyes closed. He was waiting for the squads of Magical Law Enforcement to arrive, and so far had been doing so for about ten minutes. He sat, and waited. Moody had rescued anything of any worth from wreck of his house a little while ago, leaving all his worldly possessions piled neatly off to one side.

A series of loud pops signified the arrival of the Aurors. Normally they would not be called in for such a trivial assignement, but a Chimera was something that could not be dealt with otherwise.

Moody felt the tip of a wand touch the back of his neck.

"Hello, Alastor," a cold voice said.

Moody let out a long sigh and opened his eyes.

"Hello, Rufus," he responded tiredly. Before him stood a semi-circle of Aurors with grim expressions. Several had singed or torn robes, and one spouted a nasty arm wound. _Apparently they had already dealt with the Chimera_, Moody thought, feeling a little guilty.

The Mad-Eye turned his neck to see the head Auror pointing his wand at him. Rufus Scrimgeor was wearing an expression that simultainously vicious and triumphant.

"Well, well, well, Moody," he drawled. "I never thought you would have the nerve to keep a _Chimera_ of all things,"

He barked a dark laugh. Moody let out another sigh.

"How much this time, Rufus?" he enquired. The head Auror laughed again.

"How much?" he responded, brimming with dark mirth. "You are not getting fined this time, Moody. You are going on trial."

Mad-Eye felt his heart plummet, and became filled with icy fear. Harry would not know what happened! He would be on his own. Moody could not aid him without placing him in even greater danger.

"Rufus," Moody growled dangerously.

"No Moody," the Auror responded. "You have had your many chances. You will be tried before the Wizengamot."

"Now," he continued with a vicious smile. "Will you come quietly?"

Moody thought for a second. He was outnumbered, and if he fought things would only be worse.

"I will come quietly." _For now,_ he added silently.

HHH

Dumbledore sat in his office, sucking on a sherbet lemon. It was the start of another school year. The year Harry Potter would be coming to Hogwarts. To be honest, some of the reports on the boy were slightly disturbing. Despite his muggle upbringing, (the reports said) Harry Potter was headstrong and arrogant. That was a dangerous combination.

Dumbledore sat, and contemplated, as the various devices around him spun and whirled, emiting thin trails of smoke.

"You called for me, Albus," a female voice said.

Dumbledore looked up, and found Proffessor Trelawny standing in front of his desk.

"Ah yes," he said cheerfully. "Now, my good Sybil, if you would be so kind as to..." his voice trailed off as he realized Trelawny was not paying attention to him.

"Sybil?" he asked tentativly.

"_It hath begun._" Albus looked up in surprise at the harsh tones coming from his Divination Proffessor. Another prophecy in ten years? Something momentious must be happening.

"_The cycle draws to its end. The gods, exiled long ago, are returning. A boy, born amidst the taint of death, has come. One who is hunted by light and shadow alike. Only he can end the war. For he is greater than darkness, more terrible than light. His coming heralds the end of humanity...or the gods. For neither can live while the other survives._"

Trelawny looked up, blinking rapidly.

"Are you all right, Albus?" she asked, confused. "You look a little pale,"

Glancing up, Albus waved his hand tiredly.

"Its all right, my dear. However, I require some time to think."

The Divination Proffessor took the hint, and exited, leaving the Headmaster to his thoughts.

Albus was thinking quickly. There was really only one likely candidate for the prophecy. Harry Potter was becoming rapidly of more interest. The boy could not be allowed to end the light! And a person of such power could not be allowed to live who was even faintly tainted with darkness.

Unfortunatly, the boy was also required to end Lord Voldemort. The trick would be to train the boy enough so he could defeat the Dark Lord, but not quite enough that Albus could not deal with him after.

Dumbledore bore Harry no ill will; he firmly resolved to make the boy's Hogwarts schooling as pleasant as possible before his inevitable demise. For the boy would have to die, for the greater good.


End file.
